John was too intently listening to hear anything but the speaker who declared heroic the long lean man with the pale face and the eyes like search-lights.  John waited; he wanted to hear something more.

“Did many die, uncle?”

“Oh, yes.  The men had fought McGregor about vaccination.  Many died.  There was blindness too.  Supplies failed—­no one would come in from the farms.”

John waited with the fear of defect in his ideal man.  Then he ventured, “And Aunt Ann, was she here?”

“No, I sent her away when I went to Milltown.”

“Oh! you were there too, sir?”

“Yes, damn it!” He rarely swore at all.  “Where did you suppose I would be?  But I lived in terror for a month—­oh, in deadly fear!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank me, what for?  Some forms of sudden danger make me gay, with all my faculties at their best, but not that.  I had to nurse Rivers; that was the worst of it.  You see, my son, I was a coward.”

“I should like to be your kind of a coward, Uncle Jim.”

“Well, it was awful.  Let us talk of something else.  I left your aunt better, went to Washington, saw our Congressman, got your nomination to West Point and a letter from Leila.  Your aunt must be fast mending, for she was making a long list of furniture for the new parsonage, and ’would I see Ellen Lamb and’—­eleven other things, the Lord knows what else, and ‘when could she return?’ McGregor said in September, and I so wrote to her; she will hate it.  And she dislikes your going to West Point.  I had to tell her, of course.”

“I have had a letter from Leila, uncle.  Did she write you anything about Josiah?”

“About Josiah!  No.  What was that?”

“She said I was not to tell, but I think you ought to know—­”

“Of course, I should know.  Go on.  Let me see the letter.”

“It is upstairs, sir, but this is what she wrote,” and he went on to tell the story.

The Squire laughed.  “I must let Mr. Johnson know, as Leila did not know, that it was Ann who really sent you to warn him.  Poor fellow!  I can understand his alarm, and how can I reassure him?  George Grey is going to Cape May, or so says your aunt, and I am sure if Josiah knows that he is recognized, he will drop everything and run.  I would run, John, and quickly too.  Grey will be sure to write to Woodburn again.”

“What then, sir?”

“Oh, he told your Aunt Ann and me that he would not go any further unless he chanced to know certainly where Josiah was.  If he did, it would be his duty, as he said, to reclaim him.  It is not a pleasant business, and I ought to warn Josiah, which you may not know is against the law.  However, I will think it over.  Ann did not say when Grey was coming, and he is just as apt not to go as to go.  Confound him and all their ways.”

John had nothing to say.  The matter was in older and wiser hands than his.  His uncle rose, “I must go to bed, but I have a word to say now about your examinations for admission.  I must talk to Rivers.  Good-night!”